Life Blood
by lostinthought3
Summary: First fanfic attempt. Eventually will be GS. A little angsty. I can't give a summary without giving it all away. Read and find out.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, any of the characters or storylines. I will receive no profit for this piece of work, though I would like to.  
  
Authors Note: Ok this is my first fanfic, I have been dying to write one for ages so I though I would give it a shot. Feed back would be really appreciated so that I know whether or not to continue. If I do it will be G/S. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------- Life Blood  
  
Sara Sidle was not one to go down without a fight. She could hold her own against any man. Could serve and protect as she had sworn to do. She was trained in weapon less defence and could easily unarm a suspect twice her size. She could fire a weapon with a nine out of ten chance of hitting her target. Though her culinary arts left something to be desired, should the need arise she could defend herself with a knife or any other sharp implant lying around. In high school she played on the schools baseball team and she still had the bat locked away in a her closet just waiting for an unsuspecting intruder.  
  
Sara Sidle knew the dangers which existed in Las Vegas if you were young, female and attractive. She knew the crimes which were committed and had seen more than most people see in a lifetime. She had dealt with suffering and had suffered herself. She knew what a woman looked like after lying dead for 2 weeks with only the maggots to keep her company. Sara sidle was aware of these factors and well prepared for them. She felt safe. She felt secure in the knowledge that should she become one of the statistics she wouldn't go down without dragging the culprit with her.  
  
Perhaps it was due to this that the look of quiet surprise passed across her face as the small pellet of lead entered her chest tearing through her muscle and flesh. As she fell, first to her knees with a dull thud, looking to the growing blossom of blood that appeared on her blouse her eyes blurred and the single whispered sound of "oh" passed though her lips before her lids drooped and her body wilted tumbling to the ground.  
  
Sara sidle was not one to go down without a fight. She could hold her own against any man. Could serve and protect as she had sworn to do. It was not the result of incompetence which saw her bleed out onto the concrete, or fear which saw her turn ghostly pale. It was the one factor that she had not prepared for, had never considered a danger to her life, a threat to her health.  
  
Love. 


	2. chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, any of the characters or storylines. I will receive no profit for this piece of work, though I would like to.  
  
Authors Note: Ok this is my first fanfic, I have been dying to write one for ages so I though I would give it a shot. Feed back would be really appreciated so that I know whether or not to continue. If I do it will be G/S.  
  
The white walls of the corridor reflected the dull light from the overhead lamps chasing away all shadows that tried to creep in with the patients. At one end of the long corridor a pair of swinging doors moved silently open and shut as the barrage of people – doctors, nurses and gurneys, flooded through, their cacophony of noise drowning out the faint squeak of the doors, the screech as the wheels of gurneys struck the cream linoleum and the muted groans of the victims they bore.  
  
Outside the doors, just to the side were four plastic chairs. Once white, they had slowly changed to a dirty grey as their years of service passed by. Over the time they had stood there to the side, they had held the waiting; the friends and families of the dying and sick. They had served as a comfort for the weary and sad and as a source of frustration release for those who couldn't sit and wait, calmly for answers. Their surfaces were marked with scratches and dents, black marks and smears of dirt, blood and tears. Though their recommended time of retirement had passed they still stood strong and silent, apostles of the hall, guarding the sacred place which lay beyond the doors.  
  
It was here, in one apostle's arms that he sat. Gil Grissom. A man of knowledge, a man of certainty, a man.......lost. The washed out white of the walls did little to counter his appearance of a small, dishevelled figure lost within the great expanse of the hospital. The overpowering smells of bleach and disinfectant which assaulted his senses did little to make his expression change from the one of emptiness he wore. As the doors at the end of the corridor flew open and a fresh wave of sound penetrated the air Grissom's demeanour didn't change at all. So lost within his own thoughts was he, that even the one solitary fly that fought his way to the single drop of blood on the fall couldn't draw his interest.  
  
He sat leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees his hands clasped, fingers linked, knuckles white as bone. His face was drawn and a colour just the pinker side of grey. His head hung forward, his eyes gazing a point just in front of his toes, yet a hundred miles away. He was still, still as stone. So still that had you asked any of the dozens of people who rushed through that corridor had they seen a man their answer would be no. No, they had seen no one. No one was there.  
  
But had anyone stopped to look, had anyone gazed at him for just a minute they would have seen the tremors which shook his body, the way his eyes gazed unseeing into the floor and how the dried blood which marred his hands was beginning to flake. They would have seen a man who for all his knowledge knew not what to do, a man who was no longer certain of anything, a man who was by all appearances.... ...lost.  
  
But he was not lost, but trapped within the guilt and fear and panic which swam through his veins as he saw over and over again the moment which had brought him to this place. Trapped in the instant he fell to his knees beside her prone figure, in the instant that he gathered up into his arms and the instant when her blood washed over his hands. Trapped in the moment he realised that the one thing he couldn't live without was her and all that she offered. The one thing he had always longed to experience. The one thing he couldn't see until it was too late.  
  
Love. 


	3. chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, any of the characters or storylines. I will receive no profit for this piece of work, though I would like to.  
  
Authors Note: Ok this is my first fanfic, I have been dying to write one for ages so I though I would give it a shot. Feed back would be really appreciated so that I know whether or not to continue. If I do it will be G/S. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------  
  
The Las Vegas night was excessively warm - the air thick with humidity - walking through it was like walking through water, giving the night a surreal look of languidness. The flavours and smells of the surrounding area were trapped in the pocket of humidity like flies in a web, so that the air tasted like liquor and smelled like champagne. It was a night for relaxing by the pool gazing at the stars which were making their presence known, their light streaming through the light years of space to twinkle, laughing at the antics of the world below. They looked decidedly mischievous as they gazed at down at the strip, laughing at man's futile attempts to mirror their own sparkling beauty.  
  
But this night was not one for beauty, and the ugliness of man had already reared its head. The yellow crime scene tape that outlined the latest atrocity in Vegas drew a small crowd of people. Wide eyed, starring people laughing at the thought of seeing a real dead body, a smear of blood. Women turned into their boyfriend's arms to hide their faces while men stood tall fulfilling their role of protector and saviour - first time knights in suits of glory. Their own feelings of trepidation hidden away.  
  
But there was nothing to thrill the captivated audience. The body had been removed, sombre in a suit of black, taken to the realm of the morgue. All that remained were three figures moving silently around the crime scene, crouching, standing, and pausing. Three figures moving in a silent dance they had clearly done before. Collecting and processing their thoughts turned inwards.  
  
The first, a female, hair like brazened brass, tilted her head to the left as she reached forward, the cotton bud in her hand rolling through the smear of blood that had stayed behind to tell its own story. Her thoughts strayed to her daughter, at home in bed, lying innocent as a world of lost good intentions roamed the streets outside.  
  
Slowly standing her eyes strayed to the man a few feet away who was prying a beetle from the soiled ground, tugging at it gently till it came away in his hand like toffee from a pan. A flick, a twist and dull thud saw his new friend feeding in its own private jar stowed quickly into his bag. A smile tugged at the mans lips, pleased at a job well done before his face returns to a look of concentration as he steps forward reaching for his friends mate.  
  
At the other side of the crime scene, camera clasped in her slender hands, the final member of the ensemble gazed slowly at the crowd massed behind the yellow tape like fans at a concert, vying for a front row seat. A brief look of puzzlement scurried across her features as she questioned the sanity of man and the existence of a conscience in her fellow humans.  
  
Turning around her brown eyes came to rest on the man a few feet yet a whole world away. A wash of emotions tore through her as she watched him collect a small object from the ground, an artist at work. Pride, fondness, frustration.......sadness. A foolish longing to be the object he had collected and turned so lovingly in his hands blew through her mind and she shook her head to clear it of such folly.  
  
Using the back of her hand to brush a strand of chestnut hair from her eyes a small gasp of shock ran though her as she saw a figure emerge from the crowd. A tall man with a look of fire in his eyes, he pushed his way through the throng of people bringing his weapon up to the level of his chest, his gaze fixed solely on the man still calmly collecting his insects.  
  
As a murmur ran through the crowd, all thoughts left her head, the camera clattered to the ground and her lithe figure ran towards the two figures, one approaching with harsh indistinguishable sounds emerging from his throat the other only just looking up. With a speed she didn't know she possessed she ran forward, vaguely registering the movement of police from the corner of her eyes. The steely gun in the unknown assailant's hands rose and with a final burst of energy she collided with the man still clutching the bugs to his chest, his name bursting from her lips, pushing him to the side as a searing pain ricocheted through her chest.  
  
She froze, a puzzled look flashed across her face as her knees gave way. Her eyes looked to her chest and a small sound whispered through her lips as her vision turned to black and she fell to the ground not hearing the screams of her name from the man who ran to her. Not seeing the look of anguish that tore through him as he fell by her side, as he cradled her in his arms, her blood spilling onto his fingers. Tears spilled from his eyes as her name poured from his lips over and over again. "Sara, Sara, Sara", the mass of humanity and noise, fading into the background as he sat holding her in his arms, praying for a response.  
  
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The faint touch of a hand on his shoulder had him flashing back to reality. Following the arm up to its owner he was faced with the waterlogged eyes of Catherine. Rivers of mascara flowed down her face as she sat in the empty chair beside him, in the sterile white of the corridor.  
  
She didn't ask how he was, what he was feeling, didn't say that it would be ok and give him empty words. For the first time since she had known him his emotions lay bare for the world to see, stripped of the defences and walls they hid behind. His anguish, terror and hope could be seen shining through his eyes, in the tremor that had taken residence in his hands, in the ashen look of his skin.  
  
Not a word passed between them as she took his left in her own and joined his silent vigilance. Waiting side by side in the stark corridor, the blank tunnel of white, waiting for the words they were so anxious to hear. She waiting for her friend, he waiting for the women he had only just realised he loved. 


	4. chapter 4

Authors Note: Thanks everyone for the great reviews I really appreciate the encouragement. This chapter is short but I couldn't link it with the next one without a page break and I hate those. Chapter 5 is on the way but I'm a bit busy, I'll put it up as soon as I can. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------  
  
Shoulder to shoulder the pair stood, still like statues, the door to her room just in front, the last barrier that kept her from them. The quiet noises from other rooms and the passing of faceless people in the hall blocked out from their minds, their thoughts turned only to the door in front.  
  
He stood with his eyes fixed on the silver numbered plate, which sat in the centre of the white veneer of the door - a plaque, a label, a sign, it grasped his mind with more force than the riddles to the puzzles he loved to do, to while away the hours. His eyes traced its simple numbers, the lines and shapes that came together to register in his mind, 572. The numbers black against the silver stood like soldiers against the firing wall, silhouettes and shadows warning of times gone by and those yet to come. Black like the night and the despair which weighed in the pit of his stomach. Black like his thoughts.  
  
He closed his eyes against the pain that swam through his veins and the burning sensation that filled his lungs as if the air itself had caught alight eating him away from the inside out. He swallowed the apple in his throat rising and falling like the tide. Willing himself to breath he opened his eyes revealing the ice blue irises floating in bloodshot seas, the red of the veins mirroring the blood that he washed from his hands. Her blood. Her blood that had stained his hands like his guilt had stained his heart. Her blood which she spilled for him.  
  
A firm hand on his shoulder dragged him back from the abyss into which his mind had gazed. Turing his head his eyes met Catherine's, hers filled with concern and a barely constrained desperation. Her hand tightened, then loosened, the silent gesture of support calming his nerves. A nod and her hair fell forward onto her face as her hand slipped off his shoulder and down the charcoal grey of his jacket sleeve, coming to rest crossed against her stomach.  
  
She watched through blurred eyes as his hand reached forward, holding the dull silver handle in his hand. With a breath he pushed down, the mechanism of the door catching and finally releasing and a small sliver of light from the other room appeared between the door and the frame. She watched as he threw a final glance her way before moving through the door into the room beyond. 


	5. chapter5

Author's note: ok, I'm getting a little bogged, next chapter Sara will wake up and things will get a little more interesting and a little more shippery. Feedback always helps. Thanks. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------  
  
He stood a single step length into the room, his face blank, his body stiff, his breath held. From where he stood, frozen, he could see her gentle form dwarfed by the infinite expanse of the bed and the tangled jungle of tubes that surrounded her. The regular noise of her heart beating amplified around the room by a mechanical beat, the regular proof of her continued existence soothing part of his troubled mind. He released his breath, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He hadn't known how deep his need to know she lived, to know beyond the doctors words that she was alive, had been.  
  
He ventured at last into the room, his hesitant steps a result of the emotions tumbling inside him and the vast quantities of energy he used with each step. Each step a mountain climbed, a desert crossed, a ceaseless journey. Coming to rest by her bedside he slipped into the battered and worn chair that awaited his presence and let his gaze rest on her, noting each detail, so infinitely small, so that her image would be forever tattooed in his mind.  
  
She looked small and fragile lost within the hospital bed. Only her head that rested on the mound of pillows, sitting within the gentle depression they made and her arms that lay atop the covers could be seen, the rest of her petit figure hidden beneath the white woollen blanket and the cool, starched sheets.  
  
Her skin was deathly pale, white as freshly fallen snow. So white that she barely stood out from the rest of the room. So white that her delicate features stood out on her face, as if a bright flash of a camera had gone off bathing her in harsh light. Her brown hair rested on the on the goose- feather mountains in rolling waves, a mass of curls and twists that led to nowhere. He reached out a hand and with only a finger drew back a lock of her silky mane that fallen across the upper reaches of her forehead. His hands looked red against the almost sickly grey of her skin and the finger trembled.  
  
Pushing back the curl his eyes were drawn to her long lashes that lay brushing her cheeks softly caressing her pale visage. With a desire so strong a pain bloomed in his chest he wished that those lashes would rise allowing the rich chocolate of her eyes to gaze into his own. But the lashes lay still.  
  
Moving lower his eyes began to tear as he saw that the soft, full mouth that he remembered was clasped around the alien tube of the respirator that caused the rhythmic rising and falling of her chest. A gentle whoosh would come from its rubber tentacle reminding him of the waves that would crash upon the shore, rushing up the beach to find a finger hold before being dragged back out to sea, their fingers leaving marks in the sand. Her lips, almost a shade of blue were dried and cracked, the red of her blood that could be seen in the crevasses the only sign of colour he could find on her.  
  
He felt like weeping. Like a gaping hole had been torn within his heart, that no care could heal or fabric mend. Fighting back the salty tears and releasing a shaky breath he gently held her pale hand within his own, mindful of the invasive drip which pierced her skin. It was cold and limp, not like something that belonged to a human of flesh and blood but to a china doll. A delicate doll, with a porcelain face, that should be locked on high shelf away from prying fingers. A doll, that even the gentlest of breezes could snap in two and blow the pieces to the seven winds.  
  
He sat there a slumped figure in the well used chair, her hand held like a priceless jewel in his own. His blue eyes, vivid with emotion, never left her face ringed by the waves of her hair. His mind noticed but didn't fully comprehend the cacophony of mechanical noises which filled the room, breaking the stifling silence which threatened to press down upon him. His mind never registered the artificial vein which led from her wrist to the sac for blood by her bed, replenishing the pints she had so selflessly lost. Lost for him. All that mattered was the sleeping beauty in the high, sterile bed, lying as if waiting for the prince's kiss to stir. And the hours drifted by. 


	6. chapter 6

Hey Guys,

I am so incredibly sorry that I took so long to update, I am a horrible horrible person. Hopefully this will make up for it a little.

Thanks to all those who reviewed all that time ago, this is for you guys.

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Cold. Chilled. She felt like she lay within a blanket of ice – her body ached form the sharp chill that pervaded her body. Her senses seemed dimmed; her hearing muffled, a scentless white enveloping her, her eyelids heavy. Heavy as stone. Heavy as the marble lids of sarcophagi that pressed down on their death filled cavities for centuries, compressing the air and trapping the decay.

A shiver coursed through her as the overwhelming sense of weight spread through her, across her, burying her. Out of the dull weight a point of pain made itself known as fiercely as a ray of light in darkened room. It stang like lemon juice on a paper cut and ached with a muted sense of itchiness that irritated the mind as much as the skin.

She felt weak. Not completely appear of her body, of her limbs that seemed so far, so distant from herself. She lurched through the inky blackness of her thoughts shedding ideas of whirlpools and waves that threatened to overtake her, diving through the blurred and hazy images in the hope of surfacing at some recognisable point. Some lifeline to hold onto, to drag her back from the endless darkness and stifled pain she was trapped in.

Her mind played tricks on her calling out to her, whispering her name around corners of her mind, through walls of her consciousness, leading her further down the rabbit hole to where sanity and insanity blurred, their colours bleeding into each other.

Blood. The word sailed past her internal eyes and an image came rushing to her. Her hand coated in a dark liquid, thick and sticky like syrup. Her fingers dripping with the wine coloured substance that caught the light from a nearby streetlamp twinkling with a sense of perverse pleasure. Sketchy memories assaulted her, vague thoughts she couldn't quite remember thinking till the realisation struck her and the name of the thick, captivating substance poured from her minds lips into the black abyss. Blood. Her blood. And with a startling clarity the images of that night which had been only an instant, a moment, an eternity ago came flooding back in a torrent of fear, pain and love. His blue eyes shining out of the darkness, being swept along with the torrent and with a gasp his name escaped past her lips to call soundlessly across the chasm.

A white horizon appeared in the midst of the darkness and grew, spreading across the black like a sunrise revealing a hazy world of grey, where shadows moved across her vision, blurred and indistinct. Hen the world disappeared for a moment to be replaced once again by the darkness till at last the white world faded into view. The shadow above her shimmered into place and his blue eyes gazed down onto her, into her and she felt at peace.

Her name poured from his lips caressing her as gently as his fingers on her cheek, as his teary smile on her soul. And with a smile she felt but didn't make she left the land of white to sleep, calm and secure in the knowledge that his blue eyes were still twinkling and that therefore, all must be well.


	7. chapter 7

Thanks for the review T18.

This chapter is pretty weak, but I felt that Catherine had to come back for a bit.

Next chapter will be the last

Please, please, pleases review – I appreciate the feedback.

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The door frame felt smooth under her fingertips, the coated wood cool beneath her palm. Her fingers were curled around the harsh shape, tips and nails out towards the hall where hurried people walked by, their shoes squeaking on the floor despite their attempts at quiet. The realms of the sick and dying had long been deemed a realm of silence, of stillness. Looking into the room these traits unfolded before her as her eyes beheld the sight; frozen figures in a tableau of emotion.

Her breath released itself through the half smile on her face, the quiet look of wonderment that lay on her visage. A warm pool appeared concentrated in the depths of her being, a warmth she attributed to the sense of contentment that was flowing through her. She remembered a saying from a greeting card she once bought from a gas station; a cheap paper thing that bore the creases of neglect and undesirability. "Smile and the whole world smiles with you" the grinning flower on the front had beamed despite its faded colours and lack of an envelope. Her own grin spread as the feeling of contentment, of peace spread from the confines of the stark room and its still figures to herself.

She lay pale upon the bed, a wealth of technology encircling her, embracing her. He sat slumped in the ratted chair, his form half on her bed; his head by her thighs, his hand grasping hers. Linked palm to palm. In his wilted form, the figure by the door read the relief, the pain, the exhaustion that was coursing through him. His rhythmic breathing was remarkably in time with that of the ashen beauty. As one in sleep.

The harsh, brittle noise from some where down the corridor shattered the moment and she turned from the scene in front of her for a moment to stare in its direction; fearing it would break the spell over her two companions. She needn't have worried. Their still forms remained frozen, like etchings in time. Their breath interchangeable, their hands linked, their hearts beating.

She had come with uncertainty. Come with a need for clarity. Reassurance. That one, no, both would live. From her vantage point on the threshold she could hear the mechanical pulse as it echoed around the room, measuring not one but two hearts. Two lives. Two survivors. Two people linked by more than the pursuit for truth, more than the insufficient title of friend. Two people, two comrades, two – dare she say it, soul mates.

With an almost silent chuckle that jerked her copper locks into her eyes she chastised herself for her flight thoughts and focussed once more on the scene. Then, having seen all that she needed, she silently backed out of the room not knowing how long she had stood watching two healing souls in a room of unbridled white. Perhaps a minute. Perhaps an hour. Long enough to find her reassurance, her clarity. Long enough to clear herself of all uncertainty.

And as the door latched behind her she turned her back on the room with its fairytale like occupants and walked squeaking down the corridor, secure in the knowledge that all would be well.


	8. chapter 8

Hey folks,

Well it's been a while. Thanks every one who reviewed I really appreciated the feed back. I think this is the last chapter just because it doesn't feel like it's going anywhere any more and I don't want to drag it out if I'm just going to ruin it. It's getting a bit boggy.

Thanks again and hope you enjoy it.

He woke to the movement of his silvered hair beneath her fingertips, the slow caress teasing the headache from behind his eyes and rolling the pain away to some dark forgotten corner. Slowly he turned his head till his eyes could hold her in their unfocussed gaze and the breath released from his chest, held unknowingly in fear that worse has passed in the night. With a stifled groan he rose his joints aching, his neck twisted in sleep, the movements stilted like unoiled parts being put to use for the first time after to long a period of neglect.

Coming to rest upright in the battered chair his eyes unhurriedly blinked clearing the sleep and confusion from his eyes so that when his lids slid back he saw her. Truly saw her. Her skin still so pale but not as translucent as the night before, her hair blown back on the pillow, her hands - one still gloved in tubes resting across her slender frame, the other on the creased blanket beside him where it had slipped from his head with his movements.

His storm blue eyes caressed her from as they swept across her, gently resting on the hills and valleys formed by the snowy blanket as his soul healed piece by piece, her gentle movements where before none had been stitching the wound inside him.

At last he raised his sight to her face, to the rich chestnut eyes that twinkled with knowing and to the soft lips turned up in a simple smile. His own smiled back and parted to release a gentle "Hi", all other words having fled, all other thoughts but seeing her awake lost. He slid his hand into hers, still gazing into her eyes and felt his smile widen as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze and whispered just as softly as he "Hi".

The floodgates of emotion opened by a single word tears began to fall like rain from the sky washing the fears and struggles away. Without another word from either of them a cacophony of promises, of apologies, of forgiveness passed between the two, through their eyes, their gentle touches. Till at last as the tears ended he raised her slender hand to his lips and gently kissed her smooth skin and she, smiling drifted away to the land of sleep, secure in the knowledge in the certainty that from now on, with Grissom by her side she would know no pain or sorrow, only happiness and love.


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